Saving King Thràin
by Chiara Cadrich
Summary: Gandalf enters Dol Guldur.
1. Resting down at Rhosgobel

**Resting down at Rhosgobel**

_This small fiction should be the ultimate epilog of the green book of Tuckborough, but can be read alone._

.oOo.

Gandalf was walking through the woods, deep in thought. On the red carpet, his staff marked the hesitant and muffled pace of his walk, while the dubious wizard examined fatal recent events. The forest around was slowly stripping of its glorious gold and purple. Overloaded saplings were spreading their burden of ruddy fruits and amber leaves, as their summer vitality was slowly ebbing.

A stealthy growl turned the attention of the old man who brandished his staff. From the still dense yellow thickets, echoed a powerful trigger, followed by a flexible and fluid reception on dry leaves. Yellow almond eyes narrowed stealthily in the dark foliage. A huge lynx advanced from under ripe clusters, sniffing the gray magician who calmed down.

Gandalf knelt while removing his faded felt and greeted the giant lynx with a stroke. Rhosgobel's enchantments were accompanied by an infallible watch, which relentless ferocity discouraged, for the moment, the corrupt hordes of Dol Guldur. The beast let out a roar of complicity and disappeared under the thickets.

.oOo.

Gandalf had directed himself thanks to Radagast's hives, that peopled the clearings all around his refuge. Coming out of a thicket, the gray magician entered a grassy meadow. A large majestic stag turned his powerful antlers to him, already angrily scraping the floor with his hooves.

A small brown and talkative figure warmly interjected:

\- "Your Majesty, may I introduce my cousin Olorin1 ? He is a bit hasty and hardly understands the ways of the forest, but he is a worthy wizard, who excels in his own field! "

Radagast abstained to add that apart from fire - that it was unseemly to brag about before the Great Stag who feared it - he had never understood what could be the specialties of his distant cousin. But he gave him full confidence, for Gandalf's love for the children of Illuvatar indeed extended to their four-legged companions.

Approaching, the gray wizard discovered that the Great Stag, whose height at the withers exceeded his own size, gazed tenderly a large doe, lying on its side in the grass.

\- "I'll take care of your female, your Majesty. With the help of Yavanna, she will join you shortly, pushing before her your vigorous young fawns! "

A tear wandered to the edge of the female's velvet eye, when the large male bent over her distended belly. The brown wizard, imitated by his cousin, bent as the Great Stag rut and rushed into the thickets.

\- "He must go to war every fall now. The woods get more obscure every year." Radagast sighed. Many lines had formed at the august ranger's forefront while he sniffed the air toward the southwest. As to raise the brown wizard's morale, a pigeon looked up over his fur hat and cooed a comforting song. A fountain of dried dung along Radagast's ear and beard showed that the bird was nesting full time on the head of its protector. His brown eyes softened and seemed to come back to the present.

\- "Gandalf! Come on! You should make yourself useful!", Threw the brown wizard by rolling up the sleeves of his coat.

Cousin Olorin nodded somehow ruefully, following the ranger and helping to carry the full doe on the landlord's sleigh.

Along the way, Gandalf related his latest adventure and spoke his host about his doubts and concerns, but Radagast did not seem to care about events outside the desperate struggle he led against Amon Lanc dark hordes.

\- "Two dragons2! Come on, Gandalf! If you insist on bearing your venerable attention towards the north, I need to provide you with further information! ", he patronized.

This required a day-long answer or nothing at all. The gray wizard sighed - it seemed useless to seek the advice of the honest Radagast, outside the fate of the animals or the war against Dol Guldur. His friend must have suffered many setbacks...

But his host absolutely meant to offer some help. A few minutes later, a large buzzard landed on his shoulder, not without casting hungry glances at the dove who cowered in his hat.

The brown wizard and the prey bird exchanged a few plaintive cries.

\- "Adlor reports that a sprite... iridescent... managed to put an end to the war between the Great Eagles and the Giants!"3

Radagast felt uncomfortable with the improbability of such news, and thought his friend might, in turn, laugh at his information. But to his surprise, Gandalf showed great interest. Frowning his bushy eyebrows, Olorin interrogated the buzzard which tilted its head, watching the newcomer with a bewildered air.

\- "Gandalf, you are desperately horny!" Intervened Radagast

The gray wizard was taken aback and protested, but Radagast interrupted:

\- "I am positive! Your twittering sounds like a horn! Try again! »

Avian semiotics was one of cousin Radagast's pet peeves. His perseverance with animals was only equaled by his impatience with thinking bipeds. Gandalf whistled again, applying with much good will.

\- "Prolong the trill! And more flexibility on the Kwââkk! »

Gandalf huffed and puffed with red cheeks, under the thumb of the inflexible master fowler.

\- "You are incorrigible! Let me do it!" ended up exasperated Radagast.

After many questions, translations, comments, denials, demands for confirmations and various details, Gandalf knew that a kind of leprechaun, an offshoot of the Loeg Ninglorion on the great River Anduin, was captured by a Great Eagle and had helped, for the price of his life, defeat the Giants who infamously warred on them. After which the Northern Eagles seemed to have brought home their benefactor, west of the Misty Mountains.

Without further comment, the gray wizard took out his pipe and filled it with a slight smile, as if he had just received good news about a dear friend.

.oOo.

The sturdy trunks of a powerful strain had invested an old mansion of the Bearnings and raised the imposing building in the lap of their forks. The branches of the centuries-old beech had intertwined with the oak beams of the old common hall. The men of the bear clan had to abandon it, but the new occupant had accommodated with the openings brightening the ceiling and life teeming in its foliage. The home of Radagast included many parts, corners, windows, posterns and staircases, randomly added by the beech's distorting growth. Now it housed entire colonies of woodland animals who contributed in one way or another to the coexistence, generally peaceful, of their species.

The wizards reached the mansion in the late afternoon. Winged squadrons were flying in the declining ceiling blue, reviving the sweet and warm fullness of summer with the exquisite carefree of their warbling. Their flight spread far around the refuge, relaying the vigilant attention of the Master of Rhosgobel and maintaining contact with the army of his allies, with fur or feathers.

Radagast pushed the door of the ground floor. A large bed stood in the middle of an indescribable jumble.

The brown wizard carried the full doe there and brought some straw. Gandalf was quickly relegated to the floor, as he behaved so gawky and annoyed active Radagast. The gray wizard retired, found a chair and fell fast asleep there. He had not sat in a safe place with a roof over his head for many moons.

.oOo.

The song of the blackbird pulled Gandalf from a deep dreamless sleep. The new morning light was filtering in golden hues by Rhosgobel skylights. The wizard stretched a moment, gazing with amusement the incredible mess that reigned on the floor, in a busy hum of bees.

The building was hardly level, but the astute dweller had used every inch to store plants in pots, vials, colored soils, seeds of all sizes, fragrant herbs, medicines and strange instruments. In front of the windows, bloomed improbable grafts. In a giant transparent glass jar, you could see an entire anthill, galleries and rooms, the workers in and out of the jar and running along the floor towards the forest. On the tables were spread countless moss cultures, with variegated textures and colors, or elixirs with strange glows. Everywhere were running plant stems that brought water to the miniature forest. A large hive hanged from the intersection of two beams, from where the swarm flew to an open window.

Aimless, the wizard amused himself with a curious installation: an inverted ceramic bottle, sealed with a drip-tap, overlooked a tray filled with spores of a soft green. Some scrolls piled nearby bore Radagast's tiny and illegible handwriting. Gandalf thought he could decipher notes about the black mildew. Intrigued, he let a few drops in the tray. A viscous and ink black liquid crept into the spongy foam sip with spores. Immediately the dark streak spread in all directions, as if the liquid reached the core of every seed.

With a guilty conscience, Gandalf stepped back and watched, ready to sterilize this horror with a purifying fire blast. But the drag stabilized, then slowly its conquering arms dislocated in a sparkling cloud as the green spore won back.

Gandalf, sighing with relief and repressing a culpable frown, ensured that the valve was properly closed, and promised himself, not to touch anything.

He picked up his backpack and staff, and prepared to walk down the stairs. The wizard stopped short, unprepared.

Standing on the porch, a big beaver was watching him carefully and suspiciously, her arms folded. A scarf tied around her head and a tiled apron gave her quite the air of a hobbit gossip.

Remembering some Longbottom strong chatterbox, the gray wizard cleared his throat, took a careless air and went downstairs with dignity. Behind him some scathing remarks rang out about nosy rascals and freeloaders, but he pretended not to hear, while the beaver lady began her household with grumpiness.

.oOo.

Radagast was blessed with a deep sleep and loud snoring, lying on a straw bale ripped on the floor, in the middle of empty baby bottles, a little fawn in his lap. Gandalf looked at the scene with a shy smile that faltered when he saw the doe, issued for now, nursing another fawn on the bloodied bed.

The gray wizard stroked the Great Stag's offspring, took it from Radagast and went to his mother. The brown wizard awoke and stood up, shaking his fleas like a wild boar in the middle of his lair.

\- "Oh, Radagast! " Said exceeded Gandalf.

Hearing loud recriminations sounding off the floor, the brown wizard explained Gandalf that he had known this creature when she was quite small. He had taken her in, while her parents were to succumb to a vicious wolf attack from Dol Guldur, on an eastern tributary of the Anduin.

Quickly, the lovely and witty beaver had proved useful, repairing and extending the stronghold of her master, who had the idea to feed her with his elixirs. That's when they were visited by an elf of Lorien, an emissary of Lady Galadriel. And that happened: the young beaver took a liking to speech...

\- "Radagast, was it reasonable?", Uneasily and reproachfully interrupted Gandalf.

His host nodded ruefully:

\- "I know, but she had such a thirst to do well! She meant so much to be of service, and helps me thoroughly! She rules the household with a firm and just grip. But in the end I'm not sure I made her happy... With age advancing and in the absence of a... suitable companion... she got bitter..."

As a matter of fact, unkind comments about the wizards' poor hygiene descended the stairs, shortly before their author.

Noticing the disorder of the room and sunk sheets, Radagast claimed to have some urgent business to conduct. He grabbed his stick and slipped away before the matron of the house could see the pitiful state of the ground floor. Gandalf followed him, as much to avoid the severe house-keeper, as to talk seriously with his host about what had brought him to Rhosgobel.

.oOo.

Radagast walked quickly away from his home, to take refuge out of earshot. He did well because strangled yelps pursued him for quite a long time.

At the edge of the wood, a litter of young red squirrels happily pursued between smooth branches of a sprawling hazel, bending under its nuts while their elders strove to a curious ride, collecting fruits in a jar wood.

\- "Thank you very much, Madam Spip! What news about Scrat?"

A salvo of acute complaints arose. Radagast took a sorry air. The grievances promising to extend, the brown wizard threw a determined air:

\- "I'll talk to him. Your elder must abandon this absurd quest for the biggest acorn of Greenwood! Fear not!"

Gandalf arrived as his cousin pretended to walk away again, jumping from one idea to another.

\- "Aïwendil4!" Protested the gray wizard, by using the voice of their order.

The interested party finally stopped and deign to listen. Gandalf told him the tragic fate of King Thràin, kidnapped with some parents by the minions of Dol Guldur. For a long time the two elders weighed their chances, imagining the best course of action to help the unfortunate descendant of Dùrin.

Radagast did not hide his pessimism but conjured Gandalf to wait a few months before his attempt.

\- "We must leave the Hydra doze to expect any chance of success... And in addition, you need to regain your strength..."

Gandalf, sick at heart, had to surrend to his arguments.

.oOo.

When they returned to the manor, mother beaver had set the table for lunch, in the room she had completely scrubbed. The doe and her fawns now lodged in a comfortable shed, built in the morning and amply provided with straw.

The housekeeper was waiting for them sternly, her butler towel on her arm. Radagast ducked his head when he passed in front of her, but he was called to order and wash his hands! Gandalf could not repress a smile, thus the same blame was applied to him.

While the austere governess brought and served them the meal, with an offended air, the two wizards suffered a whole string of ironic and bitter comments about the chronic disorder of the master, his irresponsibility to invite questionable vagabonds, and some other grievances, held in reserve for the days of great irritation.

When they were alone, Olorin asked his cousin how he could stand such an irascibility, to what Aïwendil answered with an evasive gesture.

But when Gandalf had emptied his second plate of tasty stew with mushrooms, he understood better the extraordinary indulgence of Radagast.

.oOo.

**NOTES**

1 Olorin is the name of Gandalf in Aman. This great traveller bears various names: Mithrandir among the Elves of Middle Earth, Tharkûn among dwarves, etc.

2 This painful Dragon case is reported in the chapter "Duel at the top" of the Green book of Tuckboroughs.

3 The war of the Great Eagles and the Giants in the Misty Mountains is told in the chapter " flights and earies" of the Green book of Tuckboroughs.

4 In Aman, Radagast is called Aïwendil, which means « the one who loves the animals ». Could you believe that ?


	2. Saving Thràin

**Rescuing Thraïn**

_Several months later, Gandalf has come back to Rhosgobel._

\- "You cannot deploy any spark of your faculties, without immediately attracting his malice!, Radagast had implored. This I have experienced at my expense! The sleeping hydra is slowly extending the influence of its dark waters, attentive to the slightest chop rippling the quiet pond of its lurking malice. »

The worthy wizard had been struggling for many years against the Necromancer's growing power. His allies, birds and beasts of the woods, had made him familiar with the whereabouts of orcs and henchmen sent to stir up trouble within Mirkwood's communities. Now his home Rhosgobel was but a clearing, in the woods corrupted by the dark stinking clouds from Dol Gûldur. But he was not discouraged, rekindling the flame among Bearnides and men, under the guise of one of their own, and fighting the advance of the poisonous tide.

\- "You had better put these togs on instead! They were won from a traveling dignitary, a high emissary I defeated one, of His repulsive despair carriers who spread darkness under the trees, fear into the heart of men and lies in the spirit of the most combative."

Gandalf donned the black suit with reluctance, not without concealing his sword under the long dark coat. In a trice, the agile Radagast applied on the hair and beard of his cousin, a dyeing he had distilled, and completed his work by applying a balm from his personal reserve, which profoundly altered the face of the patient. The grief wrinkles hardened into a severe mask, while the corners of the mouth froze into a disdaining and cruel smile.

\- "Made up this way, you can keep your wizard staff without arousing suspicion, added Radagast while giving his guest a vial of Lorien cordial. May you help Thrain and his companions, if there is still time! "

\- I owe them that. I shall not have a real night rest without trying again. One last thing, dear old friend ... Could you lead your friends on the northern outskirts of the fortress, and burst there your bright powers? This probably will attract attention while I try to surreptitiously enter the lair. »

.oOo.

\- "You are late!"

The reproach cracked like a whip. The Uruk startled, abashed by the tone, heavy with threats.

The envoy of the Master had suddenly arisen along the stone road that snaked between sooty trees, strangled by brambles. The great orc ordered his warriors column to stop, and bowed awkwardly and reticent before the high dark figure who was staring at him severely. The spineless soldiery gathered laboriously, the first rows hoping to be forgotten, and the following ranks trying to have a glimpse at Muzgâsh being reproofed...

The master of Dol Guldur did not send his followers over trifles. The long black beard and knotted stick were unknown to him, but the embers smoldering beneath the bushy eyebrows, encouraged the Uruk to contain his displeasure:

\- " 'have mauled Woodmen!"

The obsequious and malevolent smile of the orc leader unveiled yellow fangs:

\- " 'taking back loot!"

A young blonde woman, dressed in deerskin, was thrown on the stones of the path at Gandalf's feet. Covered with scratches and bruises, a small face shyly raised her terrified blue eyes towards the high dark face. The wizard, his countenance somehow shaken by compassion, seized the opportunity in a flash:

\- "That's what we were reported! You inept worms have captured a spy of the Master! Release her immediately!"

The Uruk's harsh tone hardly hid the terror that tarnished his gaze when he relayed the order:

\- "Band of fly-slugs snagas! Do what you're told! "

Quickly untied, the captive rolled incredulous eyes. As she stood paralyzed, Gandalf snatched her arm unkindly:

\- "You! You go back to your village and complete your mission! Or you will be punished severely! »

Alerted by a curious flame in the eyes of the wizard, the prisoner finally gave a nervous nod, and ran down the way, in front of the disappointed troopers. Then Gandalf turned his glare to the Uruk, without giving him time to object:

\- "And now forward! Running!", Yelled the wizard, waving his stick menacingly.

.oOo.

The cohort moved off, jostling to hold off the disturbing envoy of the Master. Gandalf maintained the pace without any moment leaving his gaze off the unfortunate Muzgâsh, whose desperate thoughts listed the fashionable tortures for punishing officers who betrayed the Master's trust.

After an hour spent racing on a climbing path among blacks and twisted pines, the noisy band joined a road that led them to the eastern gate of the fortress. A huge Olog-hai questioned the chief, who gave him the passwords, while Gandalf was draping in an air of impatient authority.

After a second door, the front ranks of the troops seemed to show signs of hesitation. At once Gandalf exclaimed in a loud voice:

\- "The patrol returns to its encampment! The offending will make me his report!"

It is not in the nature of orcs to feel any pity. Their solidarity only displays against the weakest, when the prospect of a safe victory promises bloody feasting at the expense of the vanquished. Hope to see slowly enucleating, skinning or gutting Muzgâsh, who had long forced them to walk straight under his whip, or maybe even to taste Uruk flesh, excited their curiosity.

Thus the orc troop broke up with such reticence that Gandalf had to threaten the most reluctant with eyebrow and staffk, before resuming his ascendancy over their fallen captain :

\- "Let's start by getting to the prison! We'll see if you can make yourself useful," he muttered while waiving his staff with authority. Curiously the threat seemed to act as a sedative on the Uruk, who was surprised by such a lenient treatment.

Gandalf followed the orc who left the plaza and trudged through long tunnels. Along the way, the air was warming up and Gandalf realized that Radagast's disguise was probably the most astute imaginable. Minions they met all took a busy and hurried look as soon as they saw him. Along their descent, the wizard felt the strengthening feeling of a presence, omnipotent and sinister, far into the depths of the citadel. This awareness alert, eager but cautious, watched and listened, reigning unchallenged over its kingdom.

The duo walked along a guard hall, crowded with orcs brawlers who yelled at Muzgâsh for encroaching on their territory. Immediately, cries subsided when the soldiers realised a follower of the Master stood there. Fearful and questioning murmurs arose in their wake. At the third depth, quarters gave way to stores. The Uruk gradually showed some courage, raising his head or throwing furtive glances towards Gandalf. The wizard, feeling his grip was withering, saw fit to draw his sword, stopped his prisoner and questioned him. The battered orc was forced to answer: the cells were at the fifth depth. The duo went on his way, but Gandalf stood on guard.

At the end of a low and smelly tunnel, the orc arrived on a plateau overlooking a chasm, dimly lit by orange vapors. Muzgâsh took the opportunity to jump suddenly on a staircase that lead down along the circular abyss. Gandalf pursued him there, determined to get his guide back. But down a few degrees, the wizard, asphyxiated by pestilential vapors, felt dizzy and had to rest for a moment. The Uruk, who had probably realized that the wizard was an impostor, quickly disappeared by one of the tunnels that opened into the cliff at each level, hidden by the flawed swirling.

Gandalf was expecting that the alarm would be given shortly. Despite his nagging vertigo, so he quickly went on the dizzying descent until he esteemed to stand at the fifth depth. Sudenly Muzgâsh arose from a crevice in the wall, brandishing a dagger glistening with a deadly glow.

Sometimes even wizards need a little luck. It is true that the success of their famous adventures could make believe that their great powers stand as their true luck. However, for this time at least, a simple chance, or rather two misfortunes happily combined, saved Gandalf from disaster.

Smothered by noxious fumes from the abyss, the stumbling wizard tripped in the long robe that hid his boots. Tilting unintentionally on the landing in front of him, he narrowly escaped Muzgâsh's dagger blow. The orc, carried away by his impulse, stumbled on Gandalf's staff and was cast into the abyss!

A hoarse cry rang decrescendo but to the surprise of the dizzy wizard, it lasted with a slow terrorized vibrato. Gandalf looked over the chasm: struggling in the sticky threads of a huge web and screeching hysterically, the Uruk saw a huge spider approaching, swollen and deformed, as gigantic as a large troll.

Gandalf did not wait to attend the feast of her majesty of the abyss. The landing he was on, was used obviously to get rid of prisoners by forcing some of their friends to attend the execution. Indeed some cages, empty for now, stood around a sinister stone seat. He was certainly approaching the jails. Gandalf therefore resolved to follow Muzgâsh's indications. After a sip of miruvor1, he walked resolutely down the tunnel.

.oOo.

The sleeping conscience he felt resided far beneath the mountain, now seemed to awaken, as if the insignificant sting of a despicable insect irritated a lurking predator waiting for a prey, more worthy of his attention. Gandalf, wondering whether he was spotted, wished this blip was Radagast' endeaver.

A little further on, the tunnel uncorked in a large room, where many orcs were wallowing. Before the wizard could work out his plan, a deep and terrifying sound was heard from the heart of the ancient volcano, waking threatening echoes, like grunts spilling by all corners of the rock. Gandalf thought the alarm was horned, but the orcs seemed to respond to a call, in fairly good order.

The insatiable consciousness of Dol Guldur seemed now in full recollection, devoted to strengthening the fullness of its own power over the hordes of its prostrate slaves. The wizard took the opportunity to slip into the room and turned to the only mesh passage. Gandalf walked past the stunned guards with a haughty and angry gaze, almost defying them to question him.

He headed with a firm step into the maze of corridors. He was wandering for a long time when his thoughts were disturbed by a feeling, quite strange in this dark place – no more aversion for bitterness that seemed to exude from every wall, but pain and grief, so pathetic and hopeless, Gandalf paused and, listening to his heart, turned back and took a side passage.

He had found the jails. Far in the depths of the volcano, the consciousness of Dol Guldur untiringly feasted over its hateful vanity, plotting in the dark to swell enormously to finaly engulf the world. Appalled, the wizard walked along the corridors, lined with cells.

Revolt had deserted them long ago. Grief had dried up with tears. Even resignation cracked slowly, letting madness spread like gangrene, as the last refuge of the souls damned by the necromancer.

Only fear replayed again its eternal return, at every footstep or key sound, freezing the cells occupants under its livid screed. Pell-mell, men, dwarves and elves of both sexes were rotting there under the effect of the putrid air and abolished hope.

Petrified with horror, Gandalf ceased to wander. What had he imagined? That he would only need to appear in order to find Thrain and extoll him from his captor? That he would manage, without any dilemmas or moods, to pick from the battalions of prisoners, the chosen few who would follow him? Facing the reality of unspeakable necromantic tortures, the wizard's issue summered down to find out whether he was tough enough to free these tortured souls from corruption, by granting them the liberating gift of a dignified death...

.oOo.

Gandalf paced a few random steps in corridors, appalled and indecisive. Then he saw him.

An old dwarf, sitting on his stone bunk, breathing jerkily. His filthy clothes were held at the waist by the remains of a leather belt. Precious inlaid stones had been stolen, but the wizard recognized the insignia stamped on the loop.

The long fleshless skull, leaning against the moldy wall, did not move. Only the pupils, covered with a dull veil, seemed animated with spasms in their dry sockets. The dwarf's beard, formerly black wiry braids, shining like a raven's wing, now hung as hair clumps of frozen with dirt and inhabited by vermin.

\- "Thrain?", Whispers the wizard with a broken voice that betrayed his confusion.

The dwarf's pupils, almost white, began to twirl like chased butterflies.

\- "Norin? They brought you back, Mahal be praised! I cannot see you, my poor friend, fevers took my sight away. »

The emaciated body of the dwarf was shaken in a guttural cough that ended in a hissing sigh. Thrain was laughing.

\- "Now no one can force me to contemplate Norin being devoured by the Lady with thousand webs ..."

The wicked laughter interrupted :

\- "... You're not Norin! Who came there to torment me? Who are you?", Belched the dwarf while dangerously waving his lean frame.

\- "Is it you, Dwalor?", He said, calming down.

\- "… Dwalor the faithful, the last of the last as he was the first! How strong and many were we once! How did I lose you all, incapable as I am? »

The dying dwarf's chest squeezed with convulsive spasms until he caught his breath in a sob. Thrain was crying.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, the old dwarf whispered:

\- "It was revealed to me, I saw Him in His mirrors room: greedy Gundabad Orcs at war, appropriating my wealth, treasures taken from two worms I slew with these hands. »

The dwarf raised both ethical and peeled palms, in recognition of his deeds, one truly real and the other pure wishful thinking of a mind in disarray. With growing indignation, the dwarf continued:

\- "But I saw other things! He did not realize, but I spied His mirrors! I saw this treacherous man leading his rangers to conquer Mount Gram with the blessing of his Grey henchman, and defeat by virtue of an inheritance from my house! He stole me, I know! Let him be cursed to the third generation! All cursed! All thieves! »

For a long time the old dwarf crouched on his miserable bench, looking to escape an evil memory that tormented him:

\- "Thief! Give it back! Give the ring back to Durin the deathless! You cannot claim it! You lie, it was never to You! You cannot... Dwalor, no! "

On Thraïn's blind pupils, danced the macabre souvenir of his last companion, constrained by the mere will of the new master of the ring of Durin, to cut his own throat. The miserable wretch remained prostrate a few moments, then:

\- "You're not Dwalor! »

The emaciated hand reached through the heavy gate, touching Gandalf's beard stunned by the dwarf's last words. The wizard whispered:

\- "Would you say that He took it back as if He claimed it a recovery? But ... did you not leave the last of the dwarven Rings to your heir?

\- Thorin? My son! You must not fail! The honor of our house is on your shoulders, now. Beware of this wizard, he following his own schemes! The fortune of our lines is quite indifferent to him... But you'll need this... "

Then the old dwarf did a strange thing: his long wrinkled hands began to untie the strings of his dirty beard. Within moments, he had unveiled and released a small rolled parchment, and handed it across the bars:

\- "This old fool was right, despite his cunning: it is necessary to eliminate the last of the great worms. And this is your own glory badge to look for. Receive Thror's map and the key to your grandfather secret passage. »

As if he had gotten rid of a huge load, Thràin sighed a few moments. Then, bringing together surprising strength, the dying dwarf suddenly reached out, grabbing the bars. But he was unable to get up. The old dwarf Thrain the second heir of Durin the dead, slumped dead at the door of his cell.

.oOo.

The wizard felt a strange mixture of relief and guilt. After all he did not need to help his old friend to join his ancestors. Gandalf crouched a moment, cradling the body with words of comforts and giving him a last greeting.

The folded parchment was an old dwarven map, wrapped around a small key. The wizard sighed, promising to hand this ultimate legacy to its rightful owner.

Then he straightened, wary and anxious. What he had just learned left him with an unacceptable doubt. Why did the necromancer claim He had once possessed the ring of Durin? To torture His spoiled victim?

.oOo.

**NOTES**

1 Cordial from Imladris, here from Lorien.


	3. The Necromancer

**The necromancer**

Oppressed by a nagging guilt, Gandalf left this place, suffocation of souls and tomb of hope. Robbing his last treasure from a dying had mortified him. He vowed to pass this last will to whom Thrain thought he had given it.

His severity mask had melted under the warmth of compassion, but Thrain's last words had plunged him into anxious doubts. The last dwarven ring of power had been torn from Durin's heir. Who could therefore claim having possessed it once? A hated premonition still darkens the wizard's steps in the heart of the necromancer's fortress.

Gandalf headed instinctively, inhabited by a growing unease. The wizard had to know. He reached a major corridor and followed some followers of the master.

The wicked will of the volcano was rumbling deep summons, calling his servants to an obscure meeting. The slaves converged towards the depths of the fortress, with mournful sounds muffled beats from the rock. Like a monstrous creature, the old volcano seemed to drain his bloody stream of servants and slaves, who flocked to the heart of the mountain, with mechanical steps and hallucinated gazes.

Orcs and Goblins were advancing in close ranks, with a red, lustful and cruel flame wobbling deep in their feline eyes. The powerful attraction of blood united this cowardly predator vermin, sublimating their individual terror in a hypnotic fervor.

Some men dressed in dark tunics with rangers' gear, threw glances at the fanatical crowd of these sacrificial victims, transported by a morbid and contagious spell. The gregarious and exalted crowd flowed to a huge, glowing room, jostling in a growing excitement.

The drums haunting pace slowly quickened, resulting in disturbing cohorts' trances. Sometimes a troll crushed a goblin, marking the rhythm with his heavy steps, while multitudes were massing in a huge room at the end of which stood a kind of altar. Two blood red pools framed a sacrificial stone, around which swarmed elated minions.

Gandalf suddenly realized what kind of blood bath gathered these followers of a dark worship. He pulled away quietly, trying to avoid being trapped in the middle of thousands of enemies. The wizard hid behind the peripheral pillars of the hall.

But suddenly the weaving threads of his thinking broke off - a thought had crossed the world that only Maia and Calaquendi1 travel. A thought brief and servile but stubborn as a stone thrown into a pond, resounded as en echo in the alerted wizard's mind. Then passed a second thought in response, also fast but deep, imperious and impatient.

The wizard knew that the conscience of the mountain had responded to his most powerful servant. Gandalf's blood froze in his veins. He knew this proud presence, this omnipotent power, and this merciless will. The litany of its misdeeds passed before the eyes of the overwhelmed wizard.

.oOo.

He had once lived past him in the Blessed Realm, among Aule's followers, already eager for knowledge and power. Then the reviled Maia had fled, betraying his people by following Morgoth Bauglir to Middle Earth. He was known as the Prince of Werewolves, terrorizing the Sirion Valley. During the war of the great anger, his track was lost, but he re-appeared in the Second Age as Annatar among the Elves of Eregion.

Once his ring forged, Sauron had unmasked and advanced to enslave Middle Earth. He would have succeeded without the strength of the men of Numenor, who vanquished and imprisoned him in their island. But he cunningly spread lies, perverting the king's men by promising the immortality of Aman. When the Númenorean armada landed there, the Valar appealed to the creator of the world, who submerged the sacrilegious island.

Having forever lost his mortal coil in the disaster, Sauron returned to Middle Earth and, with his ring, returned to conquer the western lands. The last Alliance of Elves and Men faced him. At the final confrontation on the slopes of volcano Orodruin, the Dark Lord had lost his ring and had vanished into the void.

And now, though shapeless, he was back and had summoned strength and will, cunningly weaving the web of his power. Now Sauron the necromancer seemed sufficiently sure of himself, and did not flee before him any more, as he had done when Gandalf had sneaked for the first time in Dol Gûldur2…

.oOo.

The wizard suddenly came back from his thoughts. A rumor of terror had spread among the orcs masses, assembled in the cave. Gandalf felt the presence of a Nazgûl, who entered the room through the same entrance as him. Already a troll guard stood at each of the other doors. The only free outlet was behind the altar.

The wizard moved, as vividly as his disguise permitted, to hide in the mass of followers. Servile hordes parted from the Nazgûl and his guard who advanced.

Then a cry went on, piercing the heart with a spear and paralyzing the mind with despair. Gandalf did not wait to find out if Sauron's minions had discovered him. Taking advantage of the terror that had paralyzed the audience, he quickly walked to the altar.

Soon the sounds of pursuit and trolls bellowing rose behind him - he ran at full speed. All around, the stunned orc hardly raised their heads. When a squinting Uruk tried to block his way, he drew his sword and cut off his head in a white flash. Without missing a beat, he continued on his momentum and headed for the altar.

When he reached it, the clamor ceased and the room fell into a deep silence. Gandalf turned, ready to face his pursuers. But the Nazgûl, sure of his victory, did not hurry.

Surrounded by some Olog-Hai, he advanced to the steps of the catafalque. Gandalf realized with horror that the expected victim for the solemn sacrifice was none other than himself.

.oOo.

The wizard backed along the altar, bordered on both sides by pools of brackish and bright red liquid. At the end of this stage, his hope gaped open. He was about to step under the lintel, when he noticed a dark stone door barred the way.

The Nazgûl had stepped on the catafalque, a long pale sword in hand. A guttural chant arose. Sour notes evoked fear and despair, promising along the nagging bewitchment, the freshness and restful darkness of the tomb. It seemed to Gandalf that above the basins, a fine red wisps rose at the rhythm of the filthy melody. The clouds crept around their victim in an unavoidable wrap. The abandonment of any desire seemed the only way out of the terrible morbeth3 threats. Gandalf's limbs were stiffening.

But the wizard was not yet at his enemy's mercy. His staff blazed with a sudden light, now golden and strong as the midday sun, and then soft and silvery as the rising moon, or flickering like stars. Orcs and Goblins groaned in pain. Gandalf's mind became clearer, but fingery wisps entwined him now, with the sensation of long slime algae on his skin. The mountain's awareness, focusing towards its servant, strengthened his will by channelling its malice.

Gandalf, half choking, nearly kneed. He stepped back again, leaning on the door that closed the path to his safety. He hesitated to unleash his power against the door, but he knew that a dwarven work of yore would yield only to the password. Otherwise, he would release the fire of Anor on his assailants for their final assault. Such an end would not have been shunned by the dwarf king who sat in his room at the time when the Blackcurls tribe prospered under Amon Lanc!

.oOo.

Driven by a sudden inspiration, the wizard made an effort to remember the expression of protocol the dwarves used at Druin's4 court to announce the arrival of the King under the Mountain. Straightening up, he murmured with a hoarse voice:

\- "Gabil uzbad u-dum! »5

In a terrible crash, the doors were opened. When the Nazgûl launched a cry of fury at his victim who escaped him, his spell broke off in a liberating snap. Gandalf leapt beyond the doors and swiftly slammed them behind him.

Un flot de fureur déferla sur le magicien comme l'attention du maître de la montagne quittait le Nazgûl. Gandalf n'en pouvait plus douter : il s'agissait bien de l'aura de Sauron le renégat, mâtinée il est vrai d'une formidable impuissance !

A wave of fury swept over the wizard as the attention of the mountain's master left the Nazgûl. Gandalf could no longer doubt: that was indeed the aura of Sauron the renegade, with a hint of furious impotence!

But the wizard did not linger: he reached a spiral staircase and climbed the stairs four by four. He was not hindered and stopped to rest at the fifth level, probably the former royal apartments. Breathless, he quickly explored the halls, hoping to find an opening to the outside.

When he heard the sound of his pursuers, it was too late: Two trolls were bellowing on the landing, cutting off any retreat.

But the wizard was right: at the end of the last room, a balcony overlooked the forest, dark and silent shade, under the vast starry sky.

He would not be taken alive.

When he rushed into the void, several cries were heard - the first with a servile and helpless rage, the second with an anguished and vengeful fury. Gandalf himself shouted, probably to liberate the accumulated tension.

.oOo.

Heureusement, un grand aigle poussa lui-aussi un cri de satisfaction en rattrapant le magicien au vol. Comme convenu, l'habile Radagast avait envoyé son allié Thorondor recueillir Gandalf au sommet d'Amon Lanc.

Fortunately, a Great Eagle gave him also a cry of satisfaction when he caught the wizard in his fall.  
As agreed, the clever Radagast had sent his ally Thorondor to collect Gandalf atop Amon Lanc.

**NOTES**

1 Calaquendi : elves of light, who travelled to Aman and beheld the light of the two trees. These were the Vanyar, Noldor and those Teleri who succeeded to the immortal lands. These elves have great powers; they are able to experience the world of the dead and magic.

2 In 2063, our favorite wizard has entered Dol Guldur. But the necromancer, aware of his presence, did not wish to reveal so early and retreated hastily, far to the east. Then for the people of the west, had begun the period of the watchful peace, until the return of the necromancer about 400 years later.

3 Black Speech.

4 Drùin, father of the sixth house of the dwarves and King under the Moutain at Tumûn-Gabil, Amon Lanc.

5 The king is grand in his abode!, which is, in Khuzdul, the usual expression to enforce respect towards the landlord when he sits in his great hall.


End file.
